


Daddy's Here

by MoMoMomma



Category: Captain America, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Age Play, Awesome Phil Coulson, Consensual Sex While Somone's Mindset is Underage, Daddy Kink, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Steve Feels, Steve Has Issues, Technically Dirty Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were things you didn't talk about, you bottled them up, swallowed them down and trudged on. Steve's never been one to do exactly as told. So he finds release from his problems in his Daddy. Now he's in the future and Daddy's gone. </p><p>But luckily for him, Tony's more than willing to share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy's Here

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink meme prompt, though I'm not sure this is exactly what they wanted. Ughhhh I have such a thing for Daddy!Phil and Daddy!Howard. I hope you guys enjoy, and please let me know if anything in the ageplay is inaccurate. (Has only done it sexualized)

Steve wasn’t good at talking about things. Okay, no, scratch that, he was great at talking about things. Military strategy, how different things were in the modern era, how music hadn’t gotten any worse or better, just more blatant. All those things he could go on and on about, to the chagrin of whoever he captured into listening to him.

But what he was _not_ good at was talking about things that were more taboo.

In his time, and was he ever sick of saying that, men were more solid, more….emotionally distant. Sure, soldiers were different all together and seeing Falsworth comfort a crying Dernier after coming upon a raided French town wasn’t anything to be shocked about, but Steve still felt disconnected. He had always seen stuff like that, showing emotions so blatantly, as something he had to avoid at all costs. He’d already gotten numerous insults hurled at him before the serum for looking like a girl, no reason to give them extra ammunition.

It had worked, pretty well in fact, just shutting down and shoving his emotions to the side, hiding them behind wisecracks and determination.

Until he completely lost it one night in his quarters.

Steve had been slumped on the floor next to his cot, sobbing into his pillow to hide any sounds, when the sound of someone entering the tent had jerked his head up. To his complete horror, and really, the only _worse_ person to walk in on him then could have been Colonel Phillips, Howard was standing there, looking shell-shocked at his tear-streaked face.

He’d expected the man to make a crack, make a joke to lighten the mood before quickly excusing himself. What he didn’t expect was for Howard to come perch on his cot, sink his fingers into Steve’s hair, guide him to rest his head on his leg, and ask him what was wrong.

All of it had come spilling out then, how he just wanted to be able to show emotions, wanted to be able to talk about things as freely as Morita or Dugan. Howard had pushed, gentler than he thought the slightly abrasive billionaire could be, until Steve had basically _thrown_ himself into Howard’s lap and sobbed that he just wanted to be a kid again. Be rid of all this responsibility, even if it was only for an hour or so, just not be Captain America, the leader of the troops and the man with the plan.

He wasn’t sure what in the hell he expected, really. In the back of his mind, he supposed he expected Howard to laugh and tell him to suck it up, that he’d chosen his lot in life when he’d agreed to the serum. But instead, Howard had wiped away the tears on his face, kissed him gently on the forehead and whispered—God, the memory was so sharp and clear even now—“You need a Daddy, don’cha, pal?”

It hadn’t occurred to Steve until exactly that moment what he needed, he hadn’t even thought about the possibility. But before he could actually kick his conscious brain into action, his subconscious had him breathing out the word “yes” and nuzzling into Howard’s throat.

They’d kept it pretty secret, of course, because even if the army tended to look the other way occasionally about two men helping each other out in the battlefield, both Steve and Howard still had reputations to protect and uphold. Besides, looking the other way about circle jerks was a lot different than ignoring blatant kinky behavior.

It had taken them a while to find out what worked, exactly, what kind of Daddy Howard needed to be versus how little Steve actually felt comfortable with getting. Howard was able to slip into the role nicely, going from a sarcastic engineer to a doting Daddy within moments, while it always took Steve a little while longer as his age never stayed static. Occasionally he was very little, four or five by his mental state, and just wanted to ask about the things you weren’t supposed to talk about, curled up in Howard’s lap while the man petted his hair and genially answered any questions he had.

Other times he was older, maybe ten or eleven, and in the phase of pretending not to need his Daddy while still desperately wanting his attention and approval. It was then that he would pilfer things from Howard’s workshop, mess with his models to get his attention, until Howard patiently put him over his knee and whacked him a few times. It never took very many and they weren’t hard smacks, just enough for the floodgates to open and Steve to wind up lying beside Howard on the billionaires bed, asking questions about more adult things, sex and alcohol and death.

And then other times he was a smart-mouthed teenager, fifteen or sixteen, rebelling against Howard’s firm rules, picking fights with everyone in an attempt to blow off built up steam. That was when Howard became a different Daddy, one more firm and controlling. He can still remember that first time, howling at Howard in the privacy of the engineer’s tent about how he wasn’t a baby anymore, that it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t go out and get fucked by any man on the street corner if he wanted, all because he was “Captain fucking America”. Usually Howard took it with a grain of salt, sipping whiskey and staring at him with an arched brow until Steve ran out of steam and collapsed against his thigh, burying his face in the smooth cloth and apologizing with tears streaming down his face.

That was when it turned sexual, Howard pulling him up for a soft kiss to tell him Daddy was there for that too, if he needed it, and slowly taking him apart on the bed with hands, mouth, and cock until Steve was biting the pillow to muffle screams and coming. Howard always put him back together so gently after those sessions, and Steve came out of it the next morning bouncy and so full of energy he’d had Bucky lob many things at his head and growl at him to “stop with the smiles, Mary Sunshine, some of us are still sleeping off hangovers.”

Bucky. God, that was probably the most terrifying moment in Steve’s life, bar none. In retrospect, his heart hadn’t raced that fast even taking the plane down. He’d been sitting in Howard’s tent, young at that point, with Howard stroking slow hands through his hair as Steve sobbed about the dead he’d seen on the battlefield today. It wasn’t something you talked about, most people pretended that their friends had just been discharged to another place, not lying dead in the dirt. But there had been boys— _boys_! Young kids who should be taking a gal out dancing for the first time and stumbling through awkward kisses in the dark—amongst the dead, and Steve had broken down.

Bucky had thrown the tent open, striding in to ask Howard something, and froze at the sight of them. And of course, because the universe hated Steve, he wasn’t able to stop himself fast enough, get himself out of that mindset in time to stop himself from whining “Daddy, make him go” and burying his face in Howard’s trousers.

Bucky had left quickly after that, and hadn’t met Steve’s eyes for the next few days. When he finally did, stumbling into Steve’s tent half-sloshed and collapsing down next to him, he’d did it in typical Bucky fashion, hanging on Steve’s shoulder and slurring “so, ‘s it a dick thing?”

He explained, with burning cheeks and a tight throat, what they did, how they did it, and how it helped. Bucky had gone quiet for a long time, sobering in front of Steve’s eyes before pressing a sloppy kiss to his temple and telling him that if it helped, it was alright with him.

And if sometimes, after really bad missions, Steve got a ‘big brother’ for a while, for a session or two, that was just fine.

But then the Red Skull, and Bucky’s fall, and being frozen in the ice. Everything came crashing down and Steve didn’t have an out anymore. It was painful and it hurt, but he swallowed it back, coping at night curled around his pillow whining for his Daddy. He’d seen some videos Tony had given him, one that had him sobbing for his teammate, for the man made of iron. Howard had sat there, in a video made specifically for if they ever did find Steve, for his eyes only, and explained how much he fucked up. How he didn’t regret doing what he did with Steve, but that it had ruined him for Tony.

That he wasn’t able to be kind to the boy, not without seeing Steve in his place. So he’d stayed cold, stayed far away, and snapped at any reminder of Steve that Tony did. He explained he did it out of concern, didn’t want to see what he would do if he slipped into the pattern again, and while Steve hated that he’d caused Tony so much pain, he understood it in a way.

He’d figured that would be the end of it, that his time being little started and ended with Howard. That doing that was something people did back in his time to cope, that no one in this era needed anything like that.

And then he found Tony….and his Daddy.

Steve headed down the hall, one of SHIELD’s acquisition reports in his hand. He knew he didn’t have to fill these things out, could just ask Tony for whatever he needed, but regardless, he liked following proper procedure. Even if it was only to request another pistol like he’d had back in the war.

Coulson had told him his door was always open, and granted, maybe it had been back when he’d been freaking out over Steve being right there, but Steve took it to heart. He stopped in front of the door and pressed the button to open it, striding in and holding the paper up in the air.

“Hey, Agent Coulson, I was wondering if you could—“

“Daddy!”

Steve stared blankly at Tony in front of him, spread out on his stomach on the floor of Coulson’s living room with what looked like model trains in front of him. The man had blurted out the word loudly, shoving up onto his knees and looking at Steve with—oh, god, it wasn’t possible—the same exact expression Steve imagined had been on his face when Bucky had walked in.

“Darling, what’s the—“

Steve swung his head around at Coulson’s voice, the man stopping short on his way in from another room. He cleared his throat, tugging nervously at his tie, and made an aborted motion, a little half wave off to the side.

“Tony, your dinner is ready. Go get washed up, sweetheart.”

Tony obligingly got to his feet and hurried off, shooting concerned looks at Steve the entire time. Steve felt his throat close at the familiar scene, a strange wanting flowing through him at the intricacies. Back in the war, he didn’t have time to lay and play with toys while Howard made him dinner, and he _wanted_ it. So very badly.

“Captain Rogers. What can I help you with?” Coulson’s voice was perfectly level, just like Howard’s had been when Bucky had barged in, as he moved to start cleaning up the toys.

Steve clenched his fist, the form crumpling in his hand as he tried to swallow around the sudden ball in his throat.

“I…uh…I needed. Report for SHIELD. Wanted my—uh—my old pistol.”

Phil deposited the toys neatly in a big bucket off to the side of the couch, sitting down on it and nodding, waving him over.

“Of course. Here, let me take a look at it.”

Steve made his way over and sat down, handing him the report and watching the back of his head as Phil perused the report. He was inches from losing it, the memories and knowledge of this still being a thing, still being alright with some people, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Finally, he couldn’t take the silence anymore and opened his mouth, not even sure what he wanted to say, not sure what he _could_ say, but desperate to say something.

“Daddy?”

_Oh, god, just shoot him._

Coulson’s head turned, his shoulders stiffening at the word as he straightened and cleared his throat, locking eyes with Steve.

“I assume you have questions?”

“I…you and him?” Steve made a swinging motion with his hand, pointing between where Tony had disappeared and where Coulson still sat on the couch. “You’re his…Daddy?”

Phil let out a slow breath and nodded, crossing his legs, seeming to collect himself for a moment before answering.

“Yes. I realize this may come as a shock to you, Captain, however, if you would like, I could compile a list of sexual and non-sexual kinks and email—“

“No!” Steve shoved his hand up, completely aware the motion was rude but unable to stop himself. “I—I understand. I used to…Howard and I…during the war. I just—“

He stopped suddenly, the hard clench in his chest at the mention of his Daddy’s name reminiscent of asthma attacks in his youth. Phil’s face lit with understanding then softened and Steve knew what came out of his mouth next was going to send him over the edge. He braced himself for it, curling his shoulders in, when Tony’s voice from behind him brought his head around sharply.

“Pops, what in the hell is he doing here?”

Tony was…not that same kid who’d scampered off. His whole posture was different, cockier and rougher, still nothing like he was as an adult, but not a child any longer. Steve realized with a jolt that Tony could switch ages within the scene, go from being a child to…a teenager apparently. Phil stood on the other side of him and clicked his tongue, Steve looking between the two.

“Tony, language. I’ve told you about that. Apologize.”

Tony rolled his eyes and huffed but murmured out a half-hearted ‘sorry, dude’. Steve’s throat clenched further at the age, worse than it had at the mention of Howard’s name. That was…god, that was when Howard would touch him. Stroke him and fuck him all while telling him just how good he was, how Daddy was always going to be there for him, how he could “just let go. Let go, Stevie, Daddy’s got you.”

Tears welled up in eyes and Steve whined, curling in on himself, seeing Tony’s startled expression as he did. He completely broke down, the pressures of today shoving him deeper and deeper into hysteria until he was burying his face in his hands and sobbing. There were people out there, people like him, he wasn’t alone.

But he still was.

His Daddy was gone, long gone by now, and he didn’t have anyone. And it _wasn’t fair_. He just wanted his Daddy, wanted him back, wanted him to stroke his hair and tell him it would all be okay. Let him cry and sob and come out of it feeling better than he had in ages.

“Steve. Steve, what’s wrong?”

Steve jerked at the light touch to his knee, pulling his face from his hands to see Phil kneeling there, concern written all over his features. Tony was hovering behind him, slouched in the way of teens confronted with displays of emotions they didn’t know how to handle. That moment, seeing someone acting like he had, seeing the concern in Phil’s face, still someone’s Daddy, even if it wasn’t his, broke Steve completely.

“I wa-want…I want my Daddy!” Steve buried his face once more, trying to stop the sobs and only succeeding in sending himself into more hysterics, his enhanced body trying to regulate the breathing and rapid heartbeat and panicking when it couldn’t.

He was shaking and sobbing and he knew for a fact he could never go back now, never go back to being Captain America to Phil, to being a team leader to Tony. But in that moment, as a child just missing his Daddy, Steve found he couldn’t have cared less. Distantly, he was aware of Phil moving, sitting back down, drawing him into his arms and stroking softly over his hair. It was both comfort and torture, slowing his breathing but quickening his sobs at the memories. It wasn’t until Tony settled on his other side, placing a gentle hand on his knee and whispering “It’s okay. He can be your Daddy too” that Steve froze.

Tony was young now, about as young as Steve felt, somewhere around four or five, and his scared but strong voice brought him out of his crying jag. He straightened from Phil’s shoulder and scrubbed at his cheeks, smiling weakly at Tony’s grinning face.

“Do y’ mean it?”

“Course!” Tony chirped, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders and grinning at him. “Daddy’s the best! He tells the best stories and if you eat all your vegetables, he makes these really, really yummy scones for dessert that he says Grandma used to make for him when he was our age!”

Steve turned wide eyes on Phil, who was smiling softly, the bemused expression on his face completely identical to that of a parent listening to their child ramble about an imaginary friend or place they’d invented. There wasn’t any scorn, wasn’t any disagreement, just kind eyes and a small smile.

“C-Can I? Would that…would it be okay?” Steve whispered and Coulson nodded, cupping his face and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, the action sliding Steve firmly into the scene as surely as a lock sliding into place.

“That would be perfectly fine. We can work out the details, all the intricacies, later. For now,” Daddy stood, clapping his hands together with a sharp noise, Tony and Steve straightening at the sound. “I know two little boys who have to be pretty hungry. What’s say we go eat dinner and maybe, if you clean your plates, we can watch a movie afterwards.”

Steve grinned, practically bouncing at the prospect of watching a movie, and let Tony grasp his hand, pulling him off the couch towards the kitchen.

“I wanna watch the new super hero movie!”

“Alright, alright. _If_ you finish your vegetables.”

“Blech,” Tony sat Steve at the table and plopped down next to him, pulling a face at Daddy’s back as he made their plates. “I hate vegetables.”

“I heard that.” Daddy said nonchalantly, Tony sinking lower in his seat and pouting as the plates were set in front of them.

Steve’s stomach growled at the smell of the food and he immediately dug in, seeing Tony straightening and copy him when he did. He was half-way through his plate, Tony keeping right up with him in a silly competition, when he noticed Daddy staring at them with a peaceful look on his face.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Phil’s face spread into a smile, his eyes telling Steve he understood the thanks was for so much more than dinner.

“You’re very welcome, baby.”


End file.
